


Nightmare

by TheSicklyJamesMadison



Series: Jeffmads Month 2019 [8]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, I burnt out yesterday, Midnight au, couldn't help myself, gotta get ahead tomorrow I promise, have fun, late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 06:30:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19145449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSicklyJamesMadison/pseuds/TheSicklyJamesMadison
Summary: Burnt out yesterday, I'll get back ahead of the game tomorrow.





	Nightmare

The forests were dead, the grass decaying and yellow. The flowers were sagged and dying, nothing around him was alive. When he bent down to heal the flowers, the grass, the trees, nothing worked. His power as a god, his magic, was ineffective. It seemed as though it had only made the condition of the plants worsen, the last few leaves on the trees falling, the flowers shriveling up, the grass disappearing, leaving only a patch of dirt in remembrance. 

As he walked further, to the living areas of the forest, they had begun to die out too, draining the life of what it used to have. Nothing around him was alive, it was all dead. He fell to the ground, letting out a sob as he gained more power through the dead trees and plants. The world hated him, it wouldn’t let him save the one thing he cared about. Everything was gone, and he was the only one remaining.

He wandered down the forest, growing less and less concern towards the decaying life around him. It had already shattered him, and his tear stained face. He just wanted to go back to how it was, when he was loved and adored by the people. Now, he had become Death. Was this what his dear James felt like on a daily basis? The world hated James, and now it hated him.

As he found himself lost in thought, James appeared from the mist. He looked sad, disappointed even, with the state of the forest. He stood there, unmoving, quiet, as though he was waiting for something. Nothing happened, Thomas felt bad for him. Is this what he felt like for all those years as the god of Death?

“James?” Thomas had asked him with a scratchy voice.

James didn’t say a word.

“I’m sorry.” Thomas ran over to him and hugged James tightly, sobbing into his shoulder.

“I wish you didn’t have to go through this.” Thomas cried.

James had only blinked in response. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” James responded, words lacking emotion.

Thomas stepped back, tears pouring down his face, and with a wobbly mouth he said, “You don’t remember me?”

“I don’t believe I’ve met you before.” He had said blankly. 

“Why don’t you remember me James, we were so close.” Thomas had only cried harder at the thought.

 

“Were we?” James had raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh James, how could you forget.” Thomas frowned.

“I’m sorry, whoever you are, but I must get going.” James turned around and disappeared into the mist.

\--

Thomas woke up in a cold sweat. He was still sleeping next to James, who was soundly snoring next to him, nothing had changed. Had James really forgotten who he was? Thomas looked over to the smaller male.

His hair was messy from twisting and turning, he looked as though he was ill. His frown was apparent, and he looked pained. Thomas put his hand to James’ forehead and determined that he was sick with a fever, rare for a god to catch.

“Gods don’t get sick.” James had once said to him.

What a lie.

Thomas gently picked up James and held him close, carrying him to another room in the vast and giant castle. The grand ball was still going on in the ballroom, he could hear the Maple Leaf Rag being played by musicians. The room he went to was cold, perfect to cool James off. It was dark, and he couldn’t see a thing, so he grabbed a blue flamed torch that was nearby. He laid James on the cold table in the center of the room, and decided to light the other torches so he could see.

When he did, he noticed photographs, paintings, and letters hanging on the walls. One particular painting caught his eye. It was from his time period, with his parents. He was sitting in between his parents, Thomas standing next to him. He remembered when they all had to stay still so the artist could capture them perfectly. Claw marks seemed to have scratched the painting, covering both James’ and Thomas’ faces, making it seem as though they were never there.

It’s like someone had tried to erase them from history. The letters were from relatives and James’ parents, missing posters and documents declaring James going missing. Thomas remembered those, he was there when it happened. It all seemed strange that they were hung up here, in this cold and dark room hidden within the castle in Necropolis. 

James shivered from where he was laying on the table.

“It’s so hot..” He mumbled to himself.

Thomas had smoothed James’ hair and landed a kiss on his forehead. Putting his hand over it and watching his magic try and sooth him.

“I know James, just relax for me.” Thomas muttered back, murmuring a spell that would attempt to heal James.

Thomas was going to have words with Luciel when this was over. He knew it was him, placing an illness on James as an attempt to take the throne. It was so likely, yet so shocking at the same time.

“Thomas..” James had shifted on the table.

“Yes, James?” Thomas had responded with a caring expression on his face.

“I appreciate you being here for me.” James had responded before falling back to sleep, his tension leaving and expression going blank.

“I hope so, I’m trying my best.” Thomas had whispered, working his magic even harder with the motivation.

Luciel was watching them from the corner of the room with a scowl. He rose his hand and broke his spell effortlessly, watching as James began to cool down and smile slightly in his sleep. It made him angry that Life was there to help Death, despite the two of them having to be enemies. He would make sure it would come to that, if it’s the last thing he did.

He wanted his king back, the stern and serious one he always knew, the quiet one that never spoke unless spoken to.

And little did he know, that was coming real soon.


End file.
